Falling Stars
by rocket-diving
Summary: Peter Pan was dead - and Neverland was following its Leader. (Panlix / Neverland Husbands Ship) II (Multi-Chapter Fic - In Progress)


All it took was a moment, less than that, and it was over. A half second and a wayward glance, one hundred blue forget-me-nots in Peter Pan's eyes. The stars fell like shattered glass and Felix all but went deaf from their shrieking lament.

His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. The sky was falling and the world was coming undone at the seam of haphazard stitches sewn with a child's deliberate, impatient care.. and all Felix could do was gaze numbly after Peter.

_Felix was seven, the first time he met Peter Pan. Peter's patchwork shirt had smelled of autumn leaves, crisp winter air, and something else that was bitter and aching and familiar. When Felix woke alone the next morning, his memories of Neverland slowly dissipating in the early light of day, he had wept a child's ragged, heartbroken tears._

Seconds stretched on toward eternity and Felix could not reconcile every firelight promise, every impetuous, inexperienced kiss - as harsh and eager as the first time he'd bludgeoned a pirate - to the slight boy that had landed atop a nest of brambles and had not stirred.

**Peter Pan was dead** - and Neverland was following its Leader.

The land tore in two with a thunderous crack that jarred the senses, swallowed up heartbeats and rattled bones and teeth beneath the skin. The sound was a single, terrible drumbeat that drew out the remainder of the Lost Boys - dark, hooded figures, solemn and slow in these final moments as they stepped into view.

The Savior and her companions scrambled and scurried like rodents caught in a flood, teeth bared and clinging to tree trunks like terrified children. The cacophony of Neverland's Undoing drowned out their words, and Felix was certain that if he could just tear out his own throat, he might remember how to breathe and then laugh at the absurdity until his heart **burst**.

_The Lost Boys who cried only did so at night, when campfires had been extinguished and the risk of Peter Pan catching them had diminished. Peter hated tears and was keen on reminding new Boys quite often of this. "I'll have Felix carve you up as bait for the Mermaids, if I so much as see a single tear between the lot of you!" None doubted him._

The rift widened, uprooting trees as ancient and ageless as fairies, sparking miniature landslides of dirt, underbrush, weathered rocks and beds of moss. The dying stars were blazing comets crashing down around them; the forest was set aflame and dark smoke clouded the air, the island transforming into a funeral pyre.

Felix coughed and choked, eyes burning as he staggered to his feet. For what little good it did, he tucked in his chin and buried his mouth and nose in the crook of an elbow. The air was toxic, sickly sweet with burning Dreamshade and his tongue was already thick as lead from the poison.

_His voice was low, sharp as a razor - Felix only had room enough for seething anger. If he gave quarter to anything else, his chest would have surely caved in upon itself. "The poison was one of Hook's own making. We didn't know. It was just a scratch and we thought we had time." He gripped the club he shouldered, leather wrap creaking in protest and knuckles straining white. "Rufio's dead, Peter..."_

The Queen and the Dark One slashed the quaking air with magic and the rest stood guard over Henry's prone form. They were desperate to stall the inevitable destruction and brace themselves for the retribution of the Lost Boys.

The Lost Boys needn't have concerned them, however. No Nap didn't struggle as he was swallowed up by the land, his eyes closed in anticipation. The Twins linked themselves arm in arm, grinning and gazes flashing as they dove headfirst into oblivion. Curly lifted a hand and waved once in parting to Felix, before he too disappeared from sight, his cloak trailing fire behind him.

_"To die will be an awfully big adventure."_

Baelfire and the Prince were gesturing wildly, trying to reach the last of the Lost Boys to drag them away from the edge of the spreading chasm. They were rebuked again and again by the protective, magical barrier that had been raised by their own companions. Unable to break through, they were forced to bear witness as Neverland claimed the lives of each of its Boys.

A star-shard crashed into the ground meters from Felix's left, a brilliant multicolored supernova. The force of impact sent him careening through air; he landed, hard, on his side. Ash rained from the black sky and his vision pulsed with the afterimage of the blast. He tasted blood and felt his chest seizing as the Dreamshade continued to spread. With certainty, he knew that there was not much time left for him.

Hope, of escape and survival, never left Felix for it had never been present at all. Peter Pan was the Believer and his Lost Boys the pragmatic force that acted as the extension of his will. Felix had known it was the End the moment the Savior's blade had slid between Peter Pan's ribs. There was no Dream of anything without Peter, and all of his Lost Boys were resigned to this Fate.

Felix forced himself to rise, his long legs stiff and unsturdy, his steps disjointed, a walking scarecrow. When the ground shook and split again and he fell, Felix grit his teeth and continued forward in a crawl.

_"Please," he whispered, the word foreign and uncomfortable as it escaped his mouth, left him shaking like a lamb. Seven, and he already knew better than to make wishes upon silent stars, to believe in anyone (even himself), to want more than what he could touch and grasp with his own two, small hands. "Please, don't make me go, Peter."_

The brambles snagged his sleeves and cloak, scraped and pierced the bare patches of his skin as Felix knelt beside the bed of thorns where Peter Pan lay. Distantly, he heard Hook shouting though he could not decipher the words through the chaos. Felix stared down, silent and unblinking, so still he might have been carved from stone.

Death hadn't softened Peter Pan's features, hadn't eased him into a mask of serenity or a sleeping peacefulness - nor was his mouth twisted into a snide grin or angry scowl. Peter's eyes were wide and empty as a spring sky, mouth slightly parted, and his expression one of naked surprise. It was the same look Peter had worn in the moments after Felix had kissed him for the first time.

Felix felt his chest clench painfully and he cursed the poison, even though he wasn't certain it was the cause.

He reached to touch Peter's arm fleetingly. He did not take Peter's hand in his own or gather his body to remove it from the tangle of brambles. Peter was dead and his skin was cold and Felix scorned the pointless sentimentality of it all.

_Peter Pan blinked pointedly, his left brow arching and expression bemused; Felix felt something akin to embarrassment wash through him and was relieved when Peter turned away again. "Nobody mourns the devil, Felix," he murmured soft enough that Felix wasn't certain he'd said anything at all._

Instead, Felix settled back so that he was sitting on the ground, his limbs heavy and sluggish. Weary, he closed his eyes and consciousness slipped away from him as he waited to die.

It was enough that he was beside Peter Pan, just as it had always been.


End file.
